Mistakes We Make (27 page)

There was a heavy thud at the front door. He’d been so absorbed in his thoughts he hadn’t even heard a car.

‘Lexie! Hello!’

Lexie Gordon was standing on the doorstep, Keira in her arms, snuggled under a cosy blanket. He lifted one corner carefully. Dark lashes curled long on a plump cheek, softly curved lips formed into a peaceful ‘O’, then sucked with unconscious contentment at an imaginary nipple.

‘She’s so perfect.’

Lexie laughed. ‘All babies are perfect when they’re asleep. Little angels. Just wait till she wakes. She’ll turn into a demanding monster, yelling for service. Milk now, Mummy! Clean bum, Mummy! Cuddles now, Mummy! Play with me, Mummy! Sing to me—’

‘OK, I get the picture.’ Adam laughed. ‘Come in.’

They made for the studio, where the wood burner was merrily ablaze. Lexie laid Keira down on the rug. ‘I’d forgotten how perfect this room is when it’s like this. I almost like it better than any other time of the year. The light’s fabulous, you don’t feel you’re missing out on the sunshine, and it’s so cosy with the stove on.’

‘You just caught me. I’m heading over to the farm. Coffee?’

‘No, I’m fine. Thanks.’

She slipped off her coat and sat, cross-legged, by her baby, one finger tracing the contours of her cheek with gentle delicacy.

Adam gazed at her enquiringly. ‘So—?’

‘I can’t believe I’ve produced her. It’s such an incredible thing to do. You know – one minute, it’s just you, then suddenly there’s another being here, and you’ve made her and you’re completely responsible for her. It’s a beautiful thing.’ She glanced up at Adam. ‘Awesome.’

The urge to reproduce – no, more than that, to be a
father
 – had been working its way up to the skin from somewhere near the core of his being for some time now. Longer, maybe, than he had understood. He and Molly – they’d had one conversation, then that had been it. One brief passing comment when they’d been little more than teenagers.
I don’t want children, do you? God, no.
Neither of them had ever broached the subject again. She was so darned ambitious, that was the problem.

Or – had it just been Molly? Did he not bear some responsibility too? Maybe she thought that he still thought ...

‘It’s lovely to see you, Lexie,’ he said, pulling himself together, ‘but if you don’t want coffee, and I’m assuming you weren’t “just passing”, would it be rude to ask why you’ve come? Only, I have to go out.’

‘Oh, yes, sorry.’ Lexie smiled up at him. Keira whimpered and she scooped the baby up in her arms and rocked her gently to and fro. ‘You’ve kept this place looking really nice,’ she said, looking around the room.

Oh, so that’s it, Adam thought, despondency hovering like a rain-laden cloud preparing to burst over him. She wants her studio back.

‘Mum’s offered to look after Keira a couple of days a week—’

‘And you want to start painting again. That’s fine, Lexie, I’ll move out as soon as you need me to. Just say the word.’

‘You don’t need to move out,’ she said quickly. ‘I can work in this room even if you’re still sleeping here. It would only be, like, nine to four a couple of days a week.’

‘It’s really kind of you, but you’d be more comfortable having the place to yourself. When were you thinking of starting?’

She grimaced apologetically. ‘Soon. Ish. Whatever suits you.’

‘Leave it with me. I’ll start looking around. OK?’

‘Oh, Adam, I don’t want to turf you out, really I don’t. I feel so mean. I can wait, there’s no rush.’

The first few drops of rain began to splash, the cold drips of the depression he’d been struggling to keep at bay for so long. He’d only staved it off by moving here – for a short time, he’d felt safe, but now he realised the feeling had been fragile. This was Lexie’s place, not his. Wherever he was going to end up, there was no future within these four walls for him.

‘Don’t apologise. It’s your studio. Give me a couple of weeks. Will that work?’

‘Perfect.’ Lexie scrambled to her feet as Keira began to grizzle. ‘Listen, I’m going to head home. If I start to feed and change her I’ll be here for ages.’

‘You can stay. I don’t need to be here.’

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘It’ll be easier at home. I can be back there in fifteen minutes. She’ll probably doze off in the car anyway.’

The kitchen door at the farm was open, as it always was. Adam stepped into the room and felt the tug of the familiar, tinged with sadness. The lights were all on, but there was no sign of Jean.

Once, there would have been dogs to greet him. Bruno and Jack, Rufus and Caro – he remembered them all, from across the years. Working dogs. The farm was their territory, and the kitchen. Only the last one, Caro, had ever been allowed further into the house. Jean had told him that Caro had been so insistent on sleeping with Geordie during his illness that she’d whined at the kitchen door for hours until Jean had finally given in and let her go to him. But Caro died the day after her master, and Jean hadn’t replaced the dog.

She should, Adam thought. A dog would help. She wouldn’t have to get a puppy. A rescue dog would be less work.

He leant on the back of a chair and surveyed the room. She hadn’t changed anything in years, so far as he could see. The same old kettle sat by the Aga, and the special Aga toasting gadget, blackened with age, was propped next to it, as it always had been. The clock on the wall was a relic from the 1960s and the plastic holder for the tea towel next to the sink dated back even earlier; the pot stand with the battered Le Creuset pots had been there for ever; the wooden towel rail on the back of the door, with its roller towel in a perpetual loop – when had that gone out of fashion, for heaven’s sake? The towel that was on it now was white with a single peppermint green stripe. He remembered it from when he’d used to visit as a boy.

Only the lack of human presence made the room feel different. No dogs, no Geordie – no Jean, for that matter. Where was she?

He was just about to head out to the farm to look for her when the handle of the back door turned, the door gave its familiar creak, and Jean appeared, pushing her grey hair back from her face distractedly.

‘I saw your car outside. Sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived. A fox had got one of the ducks and I wanted to give it a decent burial.’ When she smiled, as she did now, he could glimpse the old Jean. ‘There wasn’t enough left to eat.’

She shoved the door closed and turned her face up to Adam’s for a kiss. ‘You haven’t put the kettle on?’

‘I’m just in. Here.’ Adam pulled a chair out from under the table and helped her to sit. ‘I’ll do it, you take a rest.’

‘I’m not completely incapable, you know,’ Jean grumbled, but an appreciative sigh escaped as she settled herself.

Adam filled the kettle and lifted the lid of the hotplate. Water hissed out from under the kettle as it made contact with the heat. Familiar, comforting sounds. He leant back against the Aga and crossed his arms. Jean was looking tired. Geordie’s death had diminished her, although she still had grit. Look at how she was sitting – bolt upright, her back ramrod straight, her hands on her knees.

‘What did you want to talk about?’ he asked.

‘I’ll wait till you’ve made the coffee. The cake’s in the usual place.’

He found the old cream and green cake tin and lifted plates out from the cupboard and knives from the drawer.

‘There are paper napkins in the other one,’ she said, watching him.

Adam smiled. She might be aging, but everything still had to be done correctly.

He found the napkins and pulled two out, folded them neatly into triangles and laid them on the plates under the knives, just as she liked them.

‘The cake looks superb, Jean, you’re such a great baker.’

‘Just a small piece for me, dear. Half that. Now,’ she said, the cake untouched on her plate, ‘here’s what I wanted to say, and please don’t interrupt until I’ve finished. This place is too much for me. The house is demanding enough, but running the farm as well – I know we’ve got – I’ve got – good people helping, but honestly? It’s the responsibility. And the never-endingness of it all. I’ve had enough, Adam.’

Adam opened his mouth but she held up a warning hand. ‘I’ve been thinking about it ever since Geordie died. In fact, Geordie and I discussed this, but I haven’t talked about it till now because I wanted to be sure.’

She’s going to sell it
, thought Adam.
She’s going to sell Forgie End Farm and another precious part of my childhood will have gone for ever.

‘If you’d talked about this before Blair King folded, I’d have been able to take care of everything for you, Auntie. But right at the moment – I’m sorry, but I can’t handle the sale. It’s a shame, because it’ll add quite a lot to the costs of—’

‘Didn’t I ask you not to interrupt?’ Jean’s smile held a hint of exasperation.

‘Sorry.’

‘There will be legal work involved, but it’s probably right and proper you don’t do it anyway. Not when it involves you.’

‘Sorry?’ he said again, the inflection quite different.

Jean lifted her hands from her knees and placed them flat on the table. ‘Here’s what I’d like to propose. I want you to manage the farm. I’ll move out of here so that you can have the house to yourself, and I’ll move to the cottage near the south perimeter gate. I’d like to fence off half an acre or so around it – I couldn’t give up my hens and I’d like to grow flowers. I’ve had enough of crops to last me a lifetime, but I really fancy surrounding myself with colour and beauty.’

Astonishment silenced him.

‘Well? It seems to me to be a good solution. After all, as I understand it, you haven’t got a job and you haven’t got anywhere to live now that your folks have sold up and moved to their house in Umbria. Your mother told me you gave all your money to Molly,’ she leaned towards him, ‘which I thoroughly approve of, by the way.’

‘You’d like me to manage the farm? But I’ve got no experience at all.’

‘I’ll teach you. You’ve got a good head and there’s men to help on the land.’

‘It’d be such a change.’

‘You don’t want it.’ Jean slumped back in her chair. ‘I was afraid of that. You’re a lawyer. I told Geordie that but he was quite sure you had farmer somewhere deep in your core, and I thought that now life has changed for you—’

That clock had always had a loud tick. It seemed to be exactly half the speed of his heart.

‘Of course, it’s not the best place for a single man. We thought – we could see Molly – it seemed to us she’d fit right in here.’

‘We’re getting divorced. She’s signed the papers.’

‘Oh dear. Well, I suppose that might make a difference to what you want to do.’

Jean looked around at the faded walls. ‘It needs freshening up. I’ve been too busy, and anyway, when you live in a place you don’t notice. But I do look at those telly programmes sometimes and someone with a bit of an eye for these things could make this place look pretty. I believe Belfast sinks and flagstone floors are quite the thing at the moment.’

‘How would you see the arrangement working?’

‘The farm is a business. You’d get a salary as the manager, and the tenancy of the house would be part of the salary. If it works out, we might look at making you a director in a year or two.’

Adam’s brain was whirling with the unexpectedness of it.

‘I’ve spoken to your father about it.’ She smiled at Adam. ‘Your father’s all in favour.’

‘Really? But he always wanted me to be a lawyer. He was so angry when Geordie walked out of the family firm.’

‘The old feud? He’s got over it. They made it up. Your father may be wiser than you think, Adam. Maybe he never wanted to recognise it, but he knows your heart wasn’t in lawyering.’

James hadn’t forced Adam to study law. The assumption that was what he wanted had been Adam’s.

‘Well, there it is. It’s an offer. If you don’t want to take it up, I’ll advertise for a manager. I don’t want to talk you into something else your heart’s not in – farming’s a hard life, I can’t pretend it’s not. You’ve got to have a love for the life. You can’t pick it up and put it down. You’re out there all weathers, and it can be chancy. However hard you work, there are always risks – blight, infestations, the weather. And the paperwork gets worse and worse—’

‘You’re not doing a good job of selling it.’

Adam stood up and walked across to the window. It looked out over the backyard. However tired she might be feeling, Jean still kept it tidy. A tractor parked in the far corner was the only sign that the place was still a working farm. It was surprisingly pretty. Across the yard, the wall of one of the double-storey stone outbuildings was pierced by two large arches, leading into the space where carts would once have been housed. The coachman would have lived in the flat above. There were other outbuildings too, all empty. Geordie had long since erected modern barns further down the paddock, out of sight of the house and much more functional than these cramped old spaces.

They were ripe for conversion.

‘If we could find some money to invest, those buildings would make fantastic holiday lets, you know,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Or you could let some of them to businesses. Building the new barns was very farsighted of Geordie. There’s a lot of potential at Forgie End other than just farming the land.’

He turned. Jean was smiling.

‘I’m thinking,’ she said, ‘that maybe that’s a yes.’

––––––––

‘W
e got through! We’ve made it to the next stage!’ Barnaby was more excited than Molly had ever seen him.

Molly looked up from her screen, trying to switch her focus from the running order for the new whisky launch at the Gherkin she was in the middle of organising to tune in to whatever was prompting Barnaby’s excited outburst.

‘Great! What are you talking about, by the way?’

‘Only the public health campaign.’ Barnaby looked smug.

Around her, people started to clap and chatter.

‘Oh my God!’

‘Fantastic!’

‘Thank God for that, after all the work we all put in.’

Molly stood up and flung her arms around Barnaby. ‘That’s brilliant,’ she said, rather more quietly, ‘and you really deserve it. Now all we have to do is go in there and wow them.’